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+------ Thread: I'M AWFUL BITTER THESE DAYS | open, oneshot (/showthread.php?tid=641)
I'M AWFUL BITTER THESE DAYS | open, oneshot - Reggie. - 02-10-2017
[align=center][div style="0px; width:450px; text-align:justify; color:black; font-size:8pt;"] this will have some pretty sad stuff and tw for rape, abuse, incest, and a lot of struggling with mental shit//
Johnny's first memory was of his mother brushing his hair with her fingers, her eye black and swollen. She was a pretty lady with honey colored hair and hazel eyes, her body plump from the recent birth of his sister. Even though her husband had just beat the bloody shit out of her for drinking a beer he remembered her looking happy. As if she was shining. That's how he liked to think of his mother. Though if he was to be realistic she usually was bright red with strings of sweaty hair sticking to her face as she tore her fingernails into Johnny's cheek. He remembered her having the most desperate eyes, like a wild lion turned passive in a zoo. Those eyes... They were expressive, almost annoyingly so.
Like with most things he had inherited his father's eyes. Perpetually sad, dark eyes that looked more like a battered puppies eyes than human. No real emotion filtered through even if he was on top of the world. There really was no traits from his mother. Tan skin had been his father, Johnny's mother had been so pale she looked sickly. Dark, curly hair was from his father too. His height, his build, even the moles scattered on his body was not his own. Maybe that's why his mom had hated him so much. That made sense, his father had been so horrible to her. It wasn't entirely his fault, a lot of it was his father's, so everything was fine.
Well, his mother didn't entirely hate him. She had kissed his wounds, to be fair she was the one to inflict them, but she'd also make sure he was happy. Even if sometimes her happy wasn't his happy. Sometimes what made her feel good and made her love him made him feel gross. The touching was what bothered him. He felt like he wasn't good person whenever he thought about the touching. His body didn't care what he felt like though, and so he tried to avoid those types of thoughts. What was the word? Perverted? Yeah, he felt like a pervert. He knew that he hadn't made his mother do those things, he knew that a child couldn't understand what she had done, but then he thought of his mother and he was a grown man so there was no excuse for what he felt.
Shaking, he gripped his knees in some sort of effort to keep himself from crying. Crying was for weaklings and girls. Wasn't he a girl though? He'd always been called a girl, he'd been treated as a girl, his dad had always said that he was worse than a girl even. Johnny didn't want to be a girl though, he was a boy. So, boys didn't cry. Only more proof his dad was right, huh? Calloused hands ran across his thighs frantically, focusing on how the cloth felt. He was a boy, he was a boy, he was a boy. He was tall and had a deep voice and could protect people. Not a girl, there was no way.
Roughly he began to tug on his hair, other hand pressed against his inner thigh. Everything was okay. Nobody could get him. His mom couldn't do those awful, inappropriate things to him, he didn't have to sit and let her make him feel weird anymore. Neither could his dad, no more bruises and bottles across the head. No more burn marks, no more wrestling the bastard off his sister's. He was finally his own person, he didn't have to share himself with everyone else. Why did it still hurt then? It didn't make sense. He was finally safe, but Johnny still felt like he was back home crying under the kitchen table. His foot jerked out to kick the fire in front of him in a fit. The wood tumbled away though the flames stuck on the decree.
"Fuck!" Johnny yelled, angry tears ran down burning his eyes. Why did he do that? He was so retarded! Just another thing his stupid parents had gotten right. He really was just an idiot. Just some kind of special idiot that would never go away. He didn't want to be stupid. "Fuck," the word tapered to nothing. God, he deserved it, but he really didn't. Did he? He'd never been taught how to deal with this. How did he fix himself? Tired, he sat back on the ground, toes curled so hard they were cramping. There wasn't a way to fix whatever was wrong with him, he knew that. There was no doubt in his mind that he wasn't supposed to be like how he was. He knew he was a good man. God, he had to believe he was at least a passable human. Decent, at least.
Johnny bent down to grab a comic from his bag. "Look," he whispered to himself, "if he can do it so can you." Superman was punching a bad guy on the cover looking gruff and cool. John was gonna be okay. Someday he'd have a beautiful little girl who didn't look at him like he was crazy. She'd look at him with nothing but adoration and think he was the best man ever. Finally he'd be able to relax, and he would love her more than he could love anyone. He would be a good dad, not like his parents. The warmth of nighttime helped him calm down. No need to dwell on it, just move on. Everyone had moments. Instead of opening the comic he hugged himself.
// I'm not really sure but he pretty much had a panic attack and I just wanted to solidify whatever I was thinking about